


No Good Deed

by Blackpenny



Category: Blake et Mortimer | Blake and Mortimer
Genre: Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackpenny/pseuds/Blackpenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'd think being a world-reknown criminal would make you immune from certain problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Good Deed

The bitter weather has driven most people off the street, but Olrik had wanted to do the last check himself, just to make sure there are no last minute hitches in the plan so there he is, cruising the streets alone in a black sedan with the sleet coming down. This is a small job, but that’s no reason to half-ass it. Besides, it would be embarrassing to get caught for what is little more than a basic burglary. The blackmail that will certainly follow is none of Olrik’s concern.

No changes at the ambassador’s house or the nearby streets. Olrik parks his car two blocks from the hideout and starts walking the rest of the way, checking for any suspicious vehicles or nosy neighbors. He’s within a few doors of the fortified townhouse he’s rented when a dark figure jumps out from behind a holly hedge.

“Don’t move! Gimme your cash and I won’t cut ya.”

Olrik is momentarily stunned. The mugger is shorter than he is by three inches and lighter by about two stone. He’s jittery and sounds young, even with his voice muffled by a kerchief. He’s holding a knife with a four-inch blade in his ungloved hand.

“Give me your money! Are you fucking deaf?”

“You’re… robbing me?” 

“What the fuck does it look like? I’m not fucking around old man! Give me your god dammed wallet or I’ll slash your throat.”

“Very well, I was just making sure.” Olrik very slowly opens his coat to draw the wallet out of his suit pocket. The mugger leans slightly forward to grab it, and in that moment Olrik launches a perfect, vicious kick right to the younger man’s testicles. The mugger drops to the ground like a discarded puppet, in too much pain to even cry out. Just in case, however, Olrik places his left foot on the man’s throat just hard enough to quell any attempt at shouting and draws his own gun.

“Not a whisper, not a word, not a sound. Understand?

The man on the ground gasps for breath and nods. Olrik picks up the knife and pockets it. He unzips the punk’s cheap jacket and pulls out a wallet. The driver’s license picture matches the mugger’s face: Michael Evans, age 19. 

“You brought your own I.D. out while working? Well, I suppose that makes it easier for the police.”

Evans only whimpers in response. 

It’s a slim haul, only six pounds and some change in the wallet. Olrik takes all of it and drops the wallet on the mugger’s chest. Evans looks like he’s about to cry. 

“Tell you what, young Michael. I’ll give you one pound of this back if you answer a question.”

“Fuck you!”

“Do I need to teach you a lesson in manners?” Olrik points the gun between the mugger’s frantic eyes.

“Christ! No, no, no! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

“Why did you pick me as a target? Why not go for an old lady or a little kid, someone you could handle?”

“Your coat.”

“Make sense, kiddo. I’m losing patience.”

“It looks expensive, dunnit? I figured you wouldn’t want to fight, with a coat like that. Why the hell you got a gun for?”

“The better to shoot you with, my dear.”

Evans starts blubbering outright and Olrik is suddenly aware of the lateness of the hour. This is no longer entertaining. He briefly considers killing Evans, but that would only complicate matters. God save me from the criminally idiotic and the idiotically criminal, Olrik thinks. 

“Are you entirely lacking in common sense and observational skills? I’m a retired soldier and I’ve killed many, many better men than you. You disgust me. Here’s the pound note. Go home to mummy. Get a job in a factory.”

Evans snatches the note and limps away as fast as he can while bent over double. 

Olrik tucks away the rest of the money and the gun and watches as Evans turns a corner. He stands in the wind and the wet for a moment wondering if this is enough of an event to merit changing the plan. No, it’s a mere glitch, a story to tell later.

And when he tells the story to Sharkey and the others they laugh uproariously. He gives them the five pounds for beer money with the stipulation that they wait until after they’ve obtained the letters and got away safe.

The money is soon spent and the beer pissed away, but the voice of Michael Evans nags at Olrik. “Old man?” What the hell was that all about? Olrik has never thought much about age and after some time he realizes it’s because he never expected it to be an issue. His… recklessness? Death wish? Whatever it is, it started long before Damdu, although Olrik acknowledges that throwing his lot in with a dictator bent on world conquest was the first really crazy thing he’s done. It was all about the wild ride. He hadn’t truly expected to survive Damdu’s reign. Hoped, but not expected, not down in his bones, and yet here he is after Damdu, and Egypt and Septimus, and so many other close calls. Olrik realizes that he’s been a high-stakes gambler for twenty-five years. Where did the time go?

And long after the ambassador’s wife has succumbed to blackmail and Michael Evans has sobbed out his sins to the neighborhood priest, thoughts of age and mortality trouble Olrik, taking residence at the back of his mind and shadowing his every move.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that when Colonel Olrik isn't being captured and humiliated by Blake and Mortimer he's pretty good at his job. He probably succeeds ten times for every time he's caught, or why do people keep hiring him? Thanks again to darkrogue1 for the encouragement and input.


End file.
